


know thyself, and other ancient greek aphorisms

by rkyu



Series: the unexamined life is not worth living [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Washington Capitals Ensemble - Freeform, adam rippon - Freeform, did anyone's eyes just pop out of their skulls reading that, im sorry, march 2018 honda center game, minor instance of homophobic language, olympian ensemble, team raf ensemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rkyu/pseuds/rkyu
Summary: [8:03 am]is it considered unpatriotic to lose your virginity to a russian hockey captain? asking for a friend





	know thyself, and other ancient greek aphorisms

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to say for myself. this is wildly ridiculous and factually shaky at best. one (1) single [picture set](https://shoma-yuzuru.tumblr.com/post/171976624064/hampelindholm-usa-olympic-figure-skater-and) is the entire reason for this thing existing. please look at it
> 
>  
> 
> beta credit to the awesome [sophiahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix)\- seriously, without her this never would've made it to ao3 ;;

The thing is, Nathan already knows who Alex Ovechkin is.

Of course he does. Could he really call himself a hockey fan if he didn’t know Ovi? The guy’s practically a living legend. Even if the Caps aren’t on his personal support list, Nathan can admit to his attention being stolen any time he watches Ovi on the ice.

It’s understandable, he thinks. He’s got a touch of hero worship for plenty of the players.

But watching Ovechkin through a screen is wholly different from seeing him up close and in person. Nathan’s already starstruck as it is, getting to shake hands with Ryan Getzlaf, and shuffling down after Lauren in a daze puts him right in front of a number eight jersey.

 _Tall_ ― it’s the only thing that zips through Nathan’s mind as Ovechkin swiftly leans over to bring them to a more even ground; Nathan’s outstretched hand is cuffed into Ovi’s much larger and more solid grip, and the man’s mouth pulls into a grin as he introduces himself.

There’s something overwhelming about Alex Ovechkin that’s more than just the bear of a man he is― a strong and sturdy and confident aura that has Nathan’s insides quivering like jello.

The spell is broken when they drop the handshake and Nathan has to kick himself into gear to move out of the way. Just before he does, though, Ovechkin catches his gaze again and winks, quick and easy.

The way Nathan’s heart revs up to thump against his ribs is confusing at best, so he crams a lid down on the reaction and hurries over next to Lauren. It’s not something he wants to think about, especially not here and now.

Then the puck drops and the game begins, and Nathan puts it out of his mind quick enough.

  
  
  
  


The organization booked complimentary rooms for all the athletes who were invited to the game at the same nearby Hilton that the Caps are booked for. It’s a nice gesture, Nathan guesses, even though he and the other three skaters in the group live a grand total of thirty minutes away from the Honda Center. But it’d be kind of rude to waste a free hotel room, right?

According to Carlo, they’re going to meet the team at the bar for drinks. Nathan doesn't understand how you can just _ask_ a freaking NHL team to meet up with you― but the clout they have as Olympic-level athletes is real, apparently.

He ends up seated between Mariah and Romain at one of the two high wooden tables in the hotel’s classy lounge area while they wait; Lauren comes back from the white-countered bar with their first round of drinks, a mix of beer and wine and a single glass of Coke.

Nobody has to guess who _that’s_ for, Nathan thinks.

“Thanks for the thought,” he teases after the glass is passed down to him, hoping it doesn’t sound bratty.

“Hey, I’m not trying to get arrested tonight!” Lauren calls back from her end of the table.

Michal clinks his frothy beer against the soda with a snicker, but soon they fall back into light conversation around the table. Nathan’s eyes wander over the expanse of the wide, open room around them, at the still considerably empty space.

They’re heard before they’re seen, in a way that’s inevitable for a group of hulking, rowdy men. Nathan straightens up from his slouch in an instant once the team descends on the bar area, cleaned up and in seemingly alright spirits for the loss they just took.

A few of the men make a beeline for the bar, but most of them meander over to the second wooden table after getting waved over. Nathan recognizes them all― Kuznetsov, Oshie, Carlson. Nicklas Backstrom is doubly intimidating up close, he decides.

Then Nathan’s eyes land on the man leading the group, and his heart kicks in his chest again the same way it had earlier.

Michal and Lindsey disappear to the bar with about half the team, while the remainder push the other wooden table over until the two tables are aligned. It can’t fit the entire team, but they squeeze as many as they can in as someone brings a round of beers over.

Ovi settles about two seats away at the center of the first table, as close as Nathan’s been to him since they were on the ice. He forces himself to study the condensation on his glass while the beers get passed around.

“To finding the fuckin’ net next time!” Someone down the table announces; a wave of beer glasses are hoisted in the air, with a handful of playful jeers thrown out to match.

Conversation quickly breaks off into groups and the noise from both ends of the now-longer table makes it difficult to hear anything, but it’s not much of a problem when Nathan is so out of his element anyway. He hangs back, only jumping in with Romain and Carlo here and there.

It gives Nathan’s eyes time to drift back over to the center of the table, where Ovechkin is laughing and gesturing and downing gulps of beer, caught up in the talk around him. Nathan pulls his gaze away, only for it to wander back again. And again. It’s getting ridiculous, how he can’t seem to focus on anything else.

Sometimes Nathan feels like he’s creeping up some sort of treacherous ledge with a _Do Not Cross_ sign erected right at the precipice, when his eyes go places they shouldn’t. He tries his best to knock his brain in a different direction when it happens.

It usually works― there’s always a class to rush off to, or homework to start, or a pretty girl to settle on instead; his own program to run through in his head before he steps onto the ice, rather than avoiding the muscled lines in the skin-tight costumes of his competitors.

Nathan doesn't have any of that here.

Michal appears out of nowhere just then, plunking a new glass of what looks like another soda down in front of Nathan. "I won't tell if you won't," the man says with a grin, knocking their shoulders together. "Stop looking so sulky, okay?"

Then he's off again, and Nathan doesn't get a chance to ask why, or maybe thank him, because it can't just be an innocent soda. One careful sip of it burning its way down Nathan's throat confirms it.

He downs his drink in slow but steady sips, letting it settle warm in the pit of his stomach. After a while someone brings over a tray balanced with shot glasses, full of different shades of liquor, and the raucous laughter and chatter at the other end of the table gets to be too much.

Nathan shouldn't look, he knows he shouldn't. But now his head is a little dizzy, and his eyes travel from the tiny glasses on the other end of the table to Ovi's hand grabbing one of them.

He follows it all the way up to where Ovi places the rim of the glass to his mouth and tips his head back; Nathan watches the man’s throat bob as he swallows it down in one gulp and his stomach twists up at the sight, the alcohol in his gut burning.

That's also where Nathan fucks up, because suddenly the glass is lowered and he realizes Ovechkin is looking him directly in the eye.

He jerks his gaze away and ducks down so that Romain’s wider frame is blocking him, his heart thunking clumsily in his chest. _Shit._

Nathan doesn’t dare to look up again. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, he can melt into a puddle of embarrassment on the floor and he’ll never have to face that he just got caught in his blatant staring. Or maybe he can ask any of the men sitting down the stretch of table with several feet and at least a hundred pounds on him to just cold-cock him right there and put him out of his misery.

By now there’s hardly a person staying in their own seat for long; Nathan stays hunched, fiddling with his straw in the watery dregs of his drink, trying to get all his thoughts rounded up to figure out what he should do.

First, never, ever look in the general direction of Alexander Ovechkin again, obviously― and second, retreat to his room like he maybe should have done from the beginning.

Nathan stands, leaning across the table to where Michal has popped back next to Mariah to let them know he’s leaving. He steps back with his eyes stuck to the floor, because he figures it’s probably safer to not look at _anyone_ at this point, honestly.

That’s how Nathan misses him.

“Leaving already?”

The voice has a lilt of an accent, subtle but definitely there. _Shit._

This is it, this is where Nathan gets what’s coming to him. Ovechkin― all six gigantic feet of him― doesn’t _look_ bothered by Nathan’s earlier ogling, but Nathan’s not really sure why this is happening if it’s not going to end in him getting decked.

“Uh― yeah,” Nathan gets out, after the longest, stupidest pause in recent history. Ovi is right there, _right there,_ talking to him, and it’s ridiculously hard to wring words out of his brain.

"I just think it’s time for me to, uh, go. Somewhere else." Maybe he shouldn't try to talk after all.

"The bar is usually best place at the hotel," Ovi’s mouth twists into a grin, his arm propped on the table with all the ease in the world. Nathan still doesn't know why this is happening.

"Yeah, if you’re old enough to drink, I guess." Nathan immediately wants to deck _himself_ for that. As if it wasn't already painfully obvious he’s an infant compared to this man. God, he should've just shut the fuck up.

Ovi rocks back a bit, oblivious to Holtby behind him. "How old are you, if not old enough to drink?" he asks, giving Nathan a once-over like he’s only really looking at him just now. Nathan swallows around whatever’s suddenly stuck in his throat.

"Um, nineteen." You’re not supposed to lie about things like that, and Nathan knows it. But it feels like a question with something hanging on it, something he doesn't want to get wrong.

He definitely can’t tack on _well, in two months, technically._

Ovi hums, thoughtful. "Between me and you," he says, shifting so he’s leaning a little more into Nathan’s space, "that’s one of American laws that’s total bullshit."

He grins again, and it pulls what’s absolutely _not_ a giggle out of Nathan. It’s got to be the alcohol that’s stoking the warmth in his belly, he thinks.

Then Ovi sweeps his gaze back over his teammates, his hand going to his pocket at the same time and pulling something out. He leans closer to Nathan, _way_ close, until his mouth is at Nathan’s ear and Nathan’s heart is in his throat.

"Come," he murmurs, low, and it sends a shiver straight down Nathan’s spine. He presses whatever he’s holding into Nathan’s hand― a cardkey. "We can have different kind of fun."

"O― oh," is all Nathan can manage, after Ovi pulls back. He stares down at the square of plastic in his hand as the clatter around him fades to near background noise. He should be saying something, he should be _thinking_ something.

He glances up, helpless. Ovi gives him a close-mouthed smile, full of humor still, and nods his head in the direction of the exit to the lounge area. Like he’s telling Nathan it’s okay to leave without making a complete idiot of himself.

He gets a pat on the butt as he goes.

Nathan wanders all the way back up to his room in a daze, that touch tingling through him. He sets the cardkey down on the nightstand and hovers, staring at it.

This can’t be real, right? Did any of that just happen? This has got to be a joke. There’s just, there’s no way. No way Alex Ovechkin actually, sincerely handed over the key to his freaking room so they can―

What would make Alex Ovechkin, freaking _Alexander Ovechkin_ , want to hook up with him? And what― what would make him think _Nathan_ would be into it, even? Is it just because Nathan was staring at him? But that could have been out of plain admiration, or intimidation, or a hundred other things, really.

And Ovi had still slipped Nathan his key.

Is there something that― something about him that _seems_ like he’d be into it?

The simmer of feeling in Nathan’s stomach bubbles up into something more frenzied, almost frantic. Is there something about the way he looks, or talks, or― why would someone assume that about him? Does he have a vibe? Oh god, does he give off a fucking _vibe?_

Nathan starts pacing the floor, propelled by a sudden restless energy knocking around inside him. He needs to chill the fuck out, he’s already too worked up. It’s more likely that Ovechkin didn’t even care what kind of vibes Nathan gave off and would shoot his shot regardless because he’s _Alexander fucking Ovechkin_ and what does he have to lose?

Or. _Or,_ it really is just a joke, the old and tired kind about male figure skaters that Nathan’s no stranger to, that guys who think they’re tough shit love to make. This isn’t really the key to Ovi’s room Nathan has, and whoever _is_ behind that door is waiting to have a good old laugh at his expense. Or worse.

Something in Nathan shies away from that idea almost as soon as it comes to him, as much as he wants to be practical. Nothing about Ovechkin had seemed mean-spirited or mocking; in fact, none of them had. Nathan knows he can’t count it out, but it _would_ be particularly juvenile. Ovi’s a grown man, for fuck’s sake.

A man.

A _man,_ older than Nathan by a good number of years and broader than him by a mile. A man who Nathan’s been watching smash other guys into the boards for more years than he can remember.

A shiver passes through Nathan at the thought, right down to the warmth in the pit of his stomach.

He decides to take a shower.

It doesn’t help as much as Nathan hoped it would with the weird feeling of wanting to vibrate out of his own skin. He thinks about jerking off, but stops himself before he gets there. He just― can’t. Won’t.

The little plastic card on the nightstand draws Nathan’s eyes like a magnet after he hops out of the shower to grab the only clean pair of clothes he brought.

He can’t.

 _Come_ ― the word echoes in Nathan’s head again, low, full of meaning, as he yanks his jeans up around his hips.

He _can’t._

He goes to fiddle with the damp waves of his hair in the bathroom. _There’s no point trying to look good if you’re not going anywhere_ , Nathan tells himself, stubbornly. That doesn’t stop his fingers running through his locks.

Stepping back out into the room, he stares at the cardkey. Why is he considering this? He doesn’t know if it’s for real. He’d do nothing but embarrass himself. He’s _not gay._

Nathan tentatively picks the card up from the nightstand, turning it over and back again in his palm. All of these things should make it an easy decision― the easiest. He shouldn’t want this at all.

But.

But, there’s a part of him, that curious, undeniable part, that wants to try. That’s grappling for this chance, if for no other reason than that he’ll never have it again and he knows it. No roommate, no parents, no hovering teammates. If Nathan goes down there, nobody else will know.

Whatever happens, it stays with him only.

Nathan knows it’s over when that feeling rises within him, whatever it is that says _fuck it, I have nothing to lose_. He only stops to pocket the cardkey to his own room, flipping the lights off before he steps out into the hallway.

He ends up two floors down, staring at the gold-plated numbers hanging on the door and then at the cardkey in his slightly sweaty grasp, heart thumping.

Is he really supposed to just...let himself in? Nathan doesn’t feel right doing that, but then why would Ovi give him an entire key, and not just the room number? What if he’s not even back yet? What if he _is_?

In the end, Nathan knocks. After a few moments, there’s a rustle and the click of the handle turning. The door opens to reveal Ovechkin, shirtless, his hair mussed and the glow of lamplight behind him.

Nathan’s mouth goes a little dry.

Ovi’s smirk says he knows exactly what’s going through Nathan’s mind. “Nathan,” he greets, and Nathan’s eyes snap up, his face growing hot instantly. Already winning at not making an idiot of himself, awesome.

“You get lost? I started to think you won’t come here at all,” Ovi steps back and beckons Nathan in with him, his smirk stretching into a teasing grin. It drains some tension out of Nathan, if only a tiny bit. He smiles back.

“Just slow, sorry.”

Anything he was going to follow with dies on his tongue as Nathan watches Ovi haul his open suitcase from the bed to the floor, the shift of muscle from his massive biceps down his bare back. He whips his gaze away just as the man turns around again.

“I’m glad you don’t wear that stupid thing now.” Ovi makes a gesture to his chest as he steps closer to Nathan, and it takes Nathan’s brain a second to catch up to what he’s talking about― the Ducks jersey Nathan had been sporting the whole evening.

A soft laugh bubbles up and out of Nathan before he can think about it, easing a little more of that tension within him. Ovi grins again in response.

“Caps colors would look better on you.”

Nathan wants to reply to that, some kind of joke about being loyal to the Ducks, but Ovi is looking him in the eye again, and they’re close, really close actually, when did that happen? It hits him again, who he’s with, and why he’s here.

“Um, I― uh,” is what comes out when Nathan opens his mouth, and the embarrassment that flares up brings him to cover his face.

“God, I sound like such a dumbass,” he mutters, pressing down with his fingers before dropping his hand. “Sorry, I’m just nervous." He might as well be honest, understatement of the century or not.

That smile shows up on Ovi’s face, full of good humor. “You don’t need to be nervous. We here for having fun, yeah?” he reaches up with one of his imposing hands and slides it over Nathan’s cheek, curling around the nape of his neck. Nathan’s heart quickly stutters back up into a frenzy.

“Come here,” Ovi murmurs, guiding Nathan back with him a step or two until he sinks down to sit on the bed. Nathan moves with it before his brain catches up, before there’s even a hint of resistance for where this man wants to move him.

That hand on the back of his neck gently tugs Nathan down, and Nathan’s heart threatens to beat its way out of his chest; when their mouths meet, his eyes flutter closed.

It’s not what Nathan was expecting― in a good way. The other man’s lips are surprisingly soft, and the brush of his beard isn't off-putting like Nathan might have thought. He barely has a moment to wrap his brain around this, them _kissing_ , before Ovi is hauling the rest of Nathan down onto his lap.

They hardly even have to break apart with the way Ovi pulls Nathan’s knees around either side of him, shifting Nathan around like he weighs nothing. There’s absolute confidence in his movements, and Nathan can do nothing but go along with it until his body settles.

This is― _close._ Their crotches would be pushed flush together, if he only rocked forward a little. That alone sends the heat in Nathan rushing up in a wave; Ovi reconnects their kiss, his tongue finding its way past Nathan’s parted lips, and that heat rolls down through every one of his limbs.

Ovi’s tongue sliding against his own is _good;_ Nathan’s heart is thudding and his nerves are all twisted up and he still kind of can’t believe this is happening, but― _shit._

He falls into their mouths moving together, arms slung loose around Ovi’s shoulders. It’s good, it’s _really_ good, and Nathan doesn't realize how lost in it he is until Ovi slides his hands down to squeeze his ass.

A tiny noise of surprise escapes Nathan with the touch, becoming a shuddering exhale into Ovi’s mouth as those hands drag his lower half forward. God, Nathan’s already hard. When did that happen?

Ovi’s hands travel again, under the hem of Nathan’s t-shirt to the bare skin of his lower back. Then Nathan’s shirt is getting raked up, up, and Ovi breaks their kiss long enough to remove his shirt entirely.

Nathan barely has time for the air to hit his skin before a strong arm loops around his waist and he’s being rolled over to lie flat on the bed. Ovi rolls right along too, and having the man crouched over Nathan like this sends a new thrill shuddering through him. They hover there for a moment, Ovi’s gaze falling from Nathan’s eyes to his lips, like he might kiss him again. Instead, he tugs one of Nathan’s legs up to wrap around his waist before grinding his hips down.

This friction against his dick is a new experience, that even through his jeans he can feel Ovi’s dick coming down over his own. It pulls a quiet gasp out of Nathan, has his fingers curling over Ovi’s shoulders as the man drags their hips together again.

It blindsides Nathan how much he _wants_ already, how fast it’s bubbling up to race through his veins. Ovi leans in for a kiss again, hot, open-mouthed, and the feeling rises in Nathan with a heady speed.

They move against each other like that, Nathan already dizzy on the drag of their tongues and cocks, and he has to try to ground himself when Ovi slows the work his hips are doing, breaks away to trail his lips along Nathan’s jaw and to his throat. The man’s beard scratching over sensitive skin to move down over his collarbone is _hot_ in a way that Nathan thinks maybe shouldn’t be, but it is, and what the fuck does he know at this point―

Nathan nearly jumps in surprise when Ovi’s tongue swipes over his nipple before taking it between his teeth with a gentle scrape. He sucks in a breath as the sensation zips straight down to his dick, already straining in his underwear, aching. His fingers reflexively dig into Ovi’s shoulders.

It’s when the man continues to move lower, mouth and beard burning over Nathan’s abs, that the butterflies in his gut kick up in a furious mess. There’s no mistaking where he’s going with this―

Ovi pulls away just enough to drag his hands down Nathan’s sides to the front of his jeans, popping them open in one swift motion.

It’s happening, this is happening, this is _real._

Nathan hopes the thumping of his heart isn't as insanely loud as it feels to him, as Ovi’s fingers dip beneath his waistband to yank both the jeans and his underwear down at once. His nerves, his embarrassment flare up again once his flushed dick is exposed to the air, once his pants are peeled away from his legs and he’s ass-naked in front of this beast of a man. He’s just― it’s just―

It’s unwarranted. Ovi throws him one of those easy grins, sliding one hand over Nathan’s knee to ease his legs further apart while the other goes to wrap firm around his cock.

Nathan’s muscles jump with just that one touch― a noise escapes him in a whoosh of breath as Ovi’s hand starts to move up and down in a few slow, full strokes. Nathan barely has a gauge for this, but it’s― _god._ Ovi’s touch would be more than enough to get off on, he’s definitely wired enough, he _will._

Until Ovi shifts his body down, slides his arm under Nathan’s thigh, halts the movement of his hand and pulls Nathan’s dick up just enough to swallow it down in a single motion.

Maybe he should have expected it, because so far Ovi’s proven he isn't a man to hesitate or hold back, but fucking _shit._ Nathan groans and twists his fingers into the bedspread to stop them from going anywhere else, only barely holds his hips back from jerking up like they want to.

He can almost feel Ovi grin around him.

This is better than Nathan ever thought― Ovi’s dragging tongue and his lips and his hot wet _perfect_ mouth and Nathan is already there, already hovering on the edge. Would it be more humiliating to announce he’s about 3 seconds away from coming like the teenager he is, or to just shoot off into the man’s mouth without a word?

The next full drag up his cock, though, has Nathan’s hands scrambling down from the sheets to Ovi against the building release inside him that leaps dangerously.

“Wait― wait," Nathan gasps, his fingers only able to find locks of Ovi’s hair to tug at― he’d think twice about doing it if he wasn’t so desperate to stop himself from totally losing control.

Ovi, thankfully, pulls off immediately, holding Nathan’s dick in one fist and gazing up with probably far too much patience. Nathan quickly lets his hands fall away from the man’s hair.

“I’m― I’m too close,” he mumbles, fighting a burning flush from consuming his entire face.

Ovi chuckles at that, full and deep and a little raspy that Nathan can almost feel the vibrations from. “Cute boy,” he says, dipping his head to nip at the skin of Nathan’s inner thigh and sparking a twitch from Nathan’s body at the sharp sensation.

“You think I’m gonna make you come only one time tonight?” He looks straight back at Nathan as he says it, and― _fuck._

Ovi wastes no time sliding Nathan’s dick back into his mouth. A clear _OK_ if there ever was one, and Nathan can scarcely even tense up before he’s coming in an explosive rush.

Nathan grabs the sheet between his fists with a choked sound, needing something to hold on to as he rides out the pleasure wracking him, his hips tilted up into the heat that’s _still_ gently working him, that tongue on the underside of his dick.

By the time the rolling waves die down and Ovi pulls away enough to let his cock go, Nathan is trying in vain to pull his thoughts back into his head. What kind of fucking fever dream is he having where he just came in Alex Ovechkin’s mouth?

Ovi simply moves back up Nathan’s body with his mouth upturned and a twinkle in his eye, muscles shifting as he leans down to kiss Nathan softly. His brain and skin and insides are still buzzing, and Nathan blearily presses into it, mouth parted.

He slides a hand over Ovi’s shoulder again as they keep kissing, as Nathan regains his senses a little, something humming low between them still. “Cute,” Ovi murmurs again as he pulls back a fraction, letting his lips linger at the corner of Nathan’s mouth before he heaves himself up to his knees.

There’s nothing unsure about the way he tugs his sweats down, and nothing Nathan can do about his open, dumb staring at the other man’s cock as it bounces lightly with the movements of doing away with the sweats entirely.

 _Holy fuck_ is about the only thing that floats through Nathan’s mind, and thankfully it doesn’t make it past his throat. His spent dick gives a weak twitch, even as his thoughts start to race. Ovi’s dick is― fucking _big,_ and Nathan’s vague imaginings did nothing to prepare him for the tiniest bit of terror that blooms in him, against the settled heat in his gut stirring to life again.

There’s just, there’s no way he can fit that all in his mouth, right? The thought makes him jittery, but not exactly in a bad way. Nathan wants to give back after what he got, he just― he has no idea what to do. Is it like, etiquette in this situation? Is Ovi expecting him to? What if Nathan doesn’t?

His thoughts are cut short when Ovi comes back down over Nathan with a new energy radiating from him. It sends a little shudder through Nathan when Ovi’s hand slides around his jaw again, tilting him up for a kiss at the same time his body presses down into Nathan’s, his cock warm and full and _there._

Nathan doesn’t overthink it this time and slips his arms around Ovi’s neck just as the man rocks his hips into Nathan’s, light, but still _good._

The buzzing in his veins hasn’t faded. As they keep rocking and writhing, pressed together as close as they are, Nathan realizes that his arousal didn’t drain away with his orgasm. He shudders with it as Ovi drags his hands down over Nathan’s body, leaving a sweep of tingling sensation in their wake.

"I like you skaters," Ovi murmurs against Nathan’s mouth, just as his touch reaches to skim over his thighs. "Have a dancer body, but―" his fingers press into the flesh beneath them, "stronger."

If Nathan could think of a response to that, it’s not what leaves his mouth; because Ovi’s hands are traveling again, one nudging his thighs open a bit wider and the other sliding around and down to his ass once more. Expecting the squeeze from earlier, Nathan isn't prepared for those fingers to keep going until they brush right over his hole.

" _Ah―_!"

It’s a knee-jerk reaction that Nathan can’t control. The exclamation flies out of his mouth at the same time his body jolts away from the touch, his wide eyes meeting Ovi’s gaze.

The embarrassment he feels bubbling up at his overreaction is almost drowned out by the reality of this crashing back down onto Nathan, in a way that the kissing and rutting together and even getting his dick sucked didn't inspire, somehow.

It’s probably just plain obvious this time. "You never do this before?" Ovi asks, shifting to lean on one arm. His other hand comes back to rest on the curve of Nathan’s ass, light and unmoving.

"N― uh, no,” Nathan fumbles out, his face hot and his heart thunking around in his chest again. He flexes his grip out from where he’d been digging into Ovi’s shoulders without realizing, and begs himself to calm the fuck _down._

“Not even yourself?” the corner of Ovi’s mouth quirks with that playfulness that never seems to fully leave; he does give Nathan a gentle squeeze this time, but his hand stays right where it is.

Nathan tries to force the stiffness from his muscles, ease beneath the touch. The question doesn't help his face cool down in the least, though. “Not...not to myself either.” At least he doesn’t stutter this time, but damn if this whole situation hasn’t reduced him to sounding like a total _moron._

The good humor doesn't disappear, but something else shifts in alongside Ovi’s demeanor, something like patience. Something just a touch heavier.

“You don’t like something, you tell me, I stop. Yeah?” he meets Nathan’s eyes as he says it, and a little more of that stiffness in Nathan melts away.

“Yeah― yeah, okay,” he confirms after a beat, his heart making another valiant effort to leap into his throat at all the implications. If he really wants to, if every part of him wants to stop, he can. If.

Ovi sweeps his gaze back down, like he’s considering, a quiet hum sounding from his throat. "I try something,” he says, shifting again so his touch falls away from Nathan. “To help, make―” he pauses for a bare moment, for the first time seeming to search for words.

“Make you― loose.” That satisfies him, evidently, and Nathan swallows hard against his suddenly stricken throat.

Ovi doesn’t waste time moving his hands in under Nathan’s back and hips, half-coaxing Nathan to move with him and half-turning Nathan’s body with his impressive strength until Nathan is rolled onto his front, arms bent up near his head. The man shifts both hands to grip Nathan’s hips, pulling upward until Nathan’s knees are spread, his ass in the air.

Nathan stays in the position he’s been moved to, but the heap of self-consciousness and anticipation that burn through him at being so _exposed_ is honestly something he hasn’t ever felt before. Ovi slides his hands back down to take hold of Nathan’s ass again, kneading the flesh there and sending a shiver through him. He murmurs something, and it takes Nathan’s strung-up brain a long moment to realize it wasn't English.

Then that hold on his flesh is gripping tighter, spreading him open, and Nathan has to fight to keep his breathing even. To not embarrass himself again.

He’s waiting for the brush of fingers, but instead the bed dips with Ovi’s weight as he shifts back; Nathan has only a second for confusion to rise along his nerves before the heat of Ovi’s body comes in close behind him, and wet warmth sweeps full over his bared hole.

" _Jesus―"_ All the cool Nathan had managed to cling to flies out with that. His body jumps in Ovi’s grip once more, but the man doesn't let go this time.

So _this_ is what he meant? This, this is―

Nathan doesn't realize he’s braced against the next touch, until it doesn't come. Neither of them move, and it dawns on him that Ovi is giving Nathan the opportunity to speak up if he doesn't want this. If he wants to opt out.

If he wants to. If he really wants to, he can put a stop to this.

Nathan exhales, pushes himself to unwind again. He waits, his heart hammering.

The noise Ovi makes is decidedly pleased, and his hands go back to their massaging, running his fingers down over the backs of Nathan’s thighs and up again. It helps keep Nathan grounded as Ovi leans in again, his tongue pressing in a bit more gently this time, full and slick.

It’s a feeling Nathan’s absolutely unused to, and he has to concentrate on not automatically tensing against it. He sucks in a breath and grabs tight onto the pillow beneath him.

But when Ovi actually moves his tongue, dragging it around in a slow circle, it’s― oh. _Oh_. The shock of sensation almost startles Nathan in the way it zings through him, his cock twitching between his legs and the arousal in his gut spiking. Again, and again, and―

He finds himself relaxing into it as Ovi’s tongue keeps working, tracing every which way and sending sparks shooting up through Nathan until his entire body is flushed with heat once more, until he’s gasping with it, his fingers digging into the pillow in his grip.

He’s not sure how long he’s lost in the feeling, or when the noises start tumbling out of him, but it’s probably after Ovi takes up lapping at his hole in broad stripes, wet and messy and so fucking _good_ Nathan hardly cares what’s coming out of his mouth.

He _definitely_ doesn't care once one of Ovi’s hands slides over his hip and down to wrap around his dick, hard and aching again, to stroke it along with the motions of his tongue.

A stilted moan escapes Nathan, and he doesn't stop his hips from jerking just a bit with Ovi’s touch around him. He’s climbing to the edge already, it’s building inside him fast― then Ovi changes his movements, pushes with the tip of his tongue until it actually breaches Nathan’s hole, until it’s _inside_ him, and holy _shit_.

Nathan’s going to lose it. Ovi’s tongue is moving in and out of him in perfect time with the jerk of his hold on Nathan’s cock and Nathan’s going to come undone with the feel of it.

He doesn't think he’s ever been this turned on in his fucking life― it’s different from the nerve-wracked desperation of his last orgasm, but no less urgent as Nathan barrels towards the end with each of Ovi’s strokes, almost, god _almost_ ―

That’s when Ovi’s grip slows to a halt, tightening at the base of Nathan’s dick, and his tongue retreats with it. The sudden absence of all that pleasure is jarring; Nathan flounders without it.

"What you want?" Ovi’s voice is rough behind him, and Nathan’s fevered brain can’t comprehend the question. He thinks he manages to make a confused sound, his hips twitching.

"You wanna come?" Ovi continues, moving his hand up Nathan’s dick too slowly to be anything but torture. The heat buzzing through every other inch of Nathan’s body spreads to his face once he finally understands, and he nods almost frantically into the pillow.

"Tell me," Ovi coaxes. The one hand of his still on Nathan’s ass grips him firmly.

"....I wanna come," Nathan gets out, when he finally gets ahold of his voice. A harsh shudder of arousal rolls through him at his own words. He feels unhinged in a way that leaves little room for embarrassment, in a way that makes him think he might do just about anything right now.

"I wanna come― please― I wanna come―" Nathan’s hips try to buck into Ovi’s hand, to no avail. God, he needs it, he needs it―

There’s a rumble of noise from Ovi at that. "Good boy," he praises, and his hand almost immediately starts to pump Nathan’s dick again; he dips his head down to get his tongue back on Nathan at the same time.

Those words strike sharp, deep down on something Nathan didn't even know was inside him, but combined with the flurry of stimulation, Nathan hurtles over the edge; his toes curl and his knuckles clench white and his entire body pulls taut like a string as he spills over Ovi’s hand in an uncontrollable spasm.

It takes a long moment for Nathan to surface from that. He collapses when his legs give out, and a strong arm around his waist helps ease him down onto the bed. He feels lips press soft to the base of his spine, the scratchy brush of beard following as the kisses trail higher up his back; it’s warm and pleasant, and a muted shiver passes through Nathan.

He manages to roll over once Ovi reaches his jaw, and Nathan blinks his eyes open at the man propped above him, the expression on his face nothing but smug. "You liked?" Ovi asks, a little grin on corner of his mouth. It’s a rhetorical question; Nathan’s pretty sure his brain is dripping out his ears like jelly.

"Mmh," he tries anyway, and Ovi’s grin only widens. He tilts to the side and reaches for something out of Nathan’s line of sight, coming back with some kind of tube. What it is doesn't hit Nathan, not right away, even as Ovi’s free hand strays to his thigh once more.

"You like this too," the man says as he scoots Nathan’s pliant legs open a bit wider, "I promise."

Nathan has half an idea of what’s coming now, blooming as his brain reboots. Still, Ovi doesn’t rush. He runs his free hand over Nathan’s skin, thumb rubbing into the softer parts of his inner thighs before skirting up to glide over Nathan’s hip, his navel, back down again.

His touch leaves a tinge of heat wherever it goes, and it catches Nathan off guard how much he likes _this_ too, the touches that are strangely intimate in their own way.

Ovi pulls his hand away, and Nathan listens to the quiet pop of a cap being flicked open. He still hasn't really recovered from what just happened, still feels like he’s floating, boneless, but maybe that’s the point. He certainly doesn’t have that near-panic from earlier boil up in him now, only his heart making a sluggish attempt in his chest with the first slippery touch to his hole.

It’s not so intimidating now, not so overwhelming. Maybe he can actually do this.

Ovi anchors one hand underneath Nathan’s thigh, gently holding him open to trace his slick fingers around in a circle; a noise rises in Nathan’s throat at the now-familiar sensation. He focuses on everything good that he knows could come of it, takes a slow, deliberate breath as one of those fingers starts pushing at his rim.

That breath falters as Ovi actually slides in, further and further, and Nathan realizes it was stupid to think having the man’s tongue in him would prepare him for _this_ , because this is so much― more. It doesn't hurt, but as Ovi slowly pulls his finger back and pushes in again, Nathan can only think that it feels _weird_. Really weird. He can’t relax into it.

Keeping the calm that had settled into him becomes more of a struggle with each of Ovi’s movements, because this is just a finger, just one finger, how is Nathan supposed to handle more of this? Where he knows this is going? He can't imagine taking something even bigger will make the feeling easier to adjust to.

"Feel weird?" Ovi’s voice sounds above him, and Nathan’s eyes snap open; he didn't even realize he’d closed them.

“...Yeah, kinda." There’s no point trying to lie, especially with the man’s knowing look on him. Nathan exhales with Ovi’s finger stilled inside him, suddenly unable to meet that gaze head-on.

“First it feels weird, then it feels good. It just take some time." The thumb holding Nathan’s thigh open starts rubbing soothing motions into the skin there, and Nathan melts just a little bit under the touch. Ovi hasn't been wrong yet, but it still surprises Nathan how much he trusts the other man’s words.

The finger inside him moves again, different from the measured in-and-out of before; Ovi goes a little deeper this time, stroking, and Nathan breathes against the sensation. It’ll feel weird before it feels good, is what he said. It’s like the other man is searching with his touch, but―

Ovi angles his finger then, pushing up into a spot he hadn't reached before and― Nathan’s whole body jumps with the pleasure that bolts through him. A gasp flies out of his mouth with it, his hand shoots up to grip Ovi’s shoulder without thinking. Okay, fuck, that was― fuck.

His reaction has Ovi grinning again. "There," he murmurs. He pushes into that same spot again, yanking a stilted little moan from Nathan. The sensation is still echoing through him as the man pulls his finger out, comes back with two this time.

It’s not so bad; Nathan knows what’s coming now, and Ovi slides right in, right _there_ , brushes full over that spot, once, twice; another moan tumbles from Nathan, hapless. It’s different from the electric shocks of Ovi’s tongue on his hole― it’s a deep ache that’s somehow just as intense, that reaches his very core. He can barely handle it and can’t get enough of it, all at once.

Ovi works him into a rhythm, spreading his fingers as he pulls out to stretch Nathan’s hole, then making up for it by driving them into his prostate, again and again and _again_ and Nathan can’t believe he’s back to burning up so soon.

Even the feeling of being stretched is growing less strange because the rest of it is so _good_.

It’s when Ovi shifts, drops his head down to press his lips to Nathan’s dick, fingers still deep inside him, that the tide of arousal slams into Nathan with full force. Ovi mouths over his dick, open, tongue warm and dragging, fingers circling relentlessly against his prostate, and Nathan wants to fucking explode.

He’s not even fully hard yet and he already feels dangerously on edge, which is impossible, which is _insane_ . Ovi’s tongue sweeping over the head of his cock wrings another sound from Nathan, his fingers digging into the flesh of the man’s shoulder. He wants, fuck, he wants he wants he _wants_ ―

It’s a kind of deja vu in the worst way when Ovi suddenly slides his fingers out of Nathan and sits up, taking every bit of his touch away, and Nathan can’t bear it.

" _No―"_

It’s a whine that slips out of his mouth, an honest to god _whine_ , and whatever’s left in his well of embarrassment rises up to clamp his mouth shut for the first time in what feels like an eternity. It doesn't help that a quiet laugh bursts from Ovi at it.

"I give you something better now, don’t worry," the man reassures with a squeeze to Nathan’s thigh as he leans over again; the square of foil he comes back with is unmistakable, even to Nathan, and just like that his heart is trying to climb into his throat again.

But his body is still wound up impossibly tight, the flush on his skin is still burning, the throb of _need_ is deep in him and God, Nathan has to feel that again.

Ovi sticks the corner of the packet in his mouth and rips it open in one swift motion; the shaky anticipation ratchets up in Nathan as he watches the man roll the condom over his dick, squeeze more lube into his palm, rising higher and higher until Nathan’s practically trembling when Ovi moves in between his legs.

This is it, this is it, this is _it_.

Ovi coaxes Nathan into looping both arms around his neck, then moves his hands lower, one to slide under Nathan’s ass and one to guide his cock; the blunt, slick press to Nathan’s hole has his heart striking against his chest far too loudly.

"Ready?" Ovi murmurs in the space between them, his hulking body held still, reminding Nathan once again that he has the final say in all this. That he can always opt out.

"Yeah," Nathan answers, his voice barely a whisper. His hands clench together at the back of Ovi’s neck.

Then Ovi’s pushing in, little by little, his mouth pressing soothing words into Nathan’s temple; _relax, relax,_ other foreign syllables that are lost on Nathan, yet still settle deep down somewhere. It’s― it still doesn't hurt, not quite, but Ovi’s cock is so much, so much _more_ and the stretch is just― shit. _Fuck_.

Nathan is so focused on breathing the tension out of his body that he barely registers when Ovi stops moving, buried as far as he can go. His free arm comes up to rest heavy near Nathan’s shoulder, propping himself up before he nuzzles back against Nathan’s temple with a low groan.

"Look at you," Ovi’s voice is rough, almost gravelly now, just above Nathan’s ear. "Take it all like that, so good." The words travel down Nathan’s body in a shudder to bud new warmth with the heat already simmering there. Another noise, just short of a whimper rises in Nathan’s throat, before he chokes it off.

Ovi starts again with a gentle rock of his hips, nothing more than shifting his cock inside Nathan― it’s not easy to get back to the place where this didn’t feel insurmountably strange, but Nathan tries, arms locked around Ovi’s neck as he eases into the almost-burn of being stretched so much.

It gets a little better when Ovi starts moving in earnest, pulling out far enough to slide in deep again, again, until he grazes the spot that has Nathan’s hips twitching, has him gasping soft and quiet and sharp; _that’s_ what he was waiting for.

Ovi knows what he’s done, and makes sure to move that way each time he pushes in, to work Nathan up with that nearly-there sensation, because it’s― it’s not enough, it’s a terrible kind of tease that makes Nathan just bold enough to hook his leg up around the back of Ovi’s thigh, tilt his hips to catch just the right angle―

The man drives in harder this time, his hand firm on Nathan’s ass as he hits his prostate, and god, _god_ , that’s so much, that’s― _perfect_.

That’s also when Ovi’s body slows to a stop; his arms slide to loop under Nathan and then he’s being hauled up, rolled until Ovi’s lying back against the headboard and Nathan is in his lap. Blood rushes to his head at the sudden change in position, and Nathan’s hands flit down to the man’s shoulders to steady himself.

A tiny, almost apologetic grin shows up on Ovi’s face. "I think maybe you like this better..." his huge hands anchor to Nathan’s hips, miming an up-and-down motion. "The control," he explains, and Nathan gets what he’s saying. It almost knocks the ability to speak right out of him.

"O, okay―" Nathan stumbles over it as a new flush of heat razes through him; he feels suddenly shy, with his body on full display, with Ovi’s gaze trained on him, with knowing what he’s supposed to _do_ like this.

Control, like Ovi said.

Nathan shifts his legs around, jostling Ovi’s cock inside him, and even that― he feels _fuller_ like this, impossibly, and his breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. This is nothing he can’t do, he tells himself. Nothing he can’t try.

His thighs do the work of lifting him up from Ovi’s lap, cautiously, feeling the pull of the man’s cock sliding out of him; the push back in as Nathan settles down again, the sensation of being filled is so _much_ , and for the first time it sparks something in his gut, nameless, quivering.

Nathan grows a little braver with each lift and sink, as he gets ahold of the movements, as he falls into the feel of it; as his insides surge with that reckless heat at each of Ovi’s soft grunts every time he bottoms out, at the man’s fingers pressing harder into his hips.

“Can’t believe,” Ovi nearly pants, mouth parted, “I’m first to see this―” one of his hands uproots itself from Nathan’s hip to skim across his thigh, up over his clenching abs, his pecs, and a shiver rolls through Nathan at the touch as his body moves.

“First to see _you.”_ Ovi’s gaze flits along wherever his touch goes, openly taking in Nathan’s body, and Nathan is suddenly struck with the feeling that overwhelms him on the ice sometimes― when he’s nailing his program, clean and sharp and invincible and all eyes in the audience are glued to him, because they’re _impressed._

He’s a performer as much as anything, and this man’s rapt attention ignites something completely different in him.

“You are- fucking- _made_ \- for this,” Ovi growls out around Nathan coming down on his cock, hand grazing over Nathan’s cheek, and the words travel down inside him.

He gets brave enough to rock back, feeling a hot rush of satisfaction when Ovi’s eyes follow the jut of his shoulders and the spread of his thighs and the bounce of his dick between them; Nathan’s hands barely leverage on Ovi to try and hit that angle, lifts himself, sinks back down and―

"Oh _fuck_ ―" the words fall out of Nathan’s mouth as the pleasure shoots up through him like an arrow, flooding low in his belly, sparks rolling through his limbs.

He drops into Ovi’s lap maybe a little too hard, but it only draws a deep sound from the man, his hands sliding around to Nathan’s back. He leans in to press his lips to Nathan’s jaw and Nathan shivers with it, one arm half-curling around Ovi’s neck again.

His other hand strays behind him to lever on Ovi’s thigh so he can push himself up just the same way, fall down into the explosion within him. Like this it’s just― it’s unreal. The blunt head of Ovi’s cock strikes dead on, a delicious drag following it, and Nathan is losing his thoughts with every movement.

He feels feverish with the heat that’s boiling inside him, burning out through his skin. That feeling from before, the groundless, unhinged feeling sweeps over Nathan in a wave. He wants, he wants― not just the spiraling pleasure, but _all_ of it ― the force of Ovi driving into him, the smack of skin against skin, the stretch of Ovi’s cock filling him up ―

God, how could he have thought that was strange? How could he be satisfied without it?

Nathan’s vision is narrowing down, down to that, down to the heat ravaging his insides and the burn in his thighs. To Ovi’s hips rolling up to meet his, making it that much _more_ . To Ovi’s mouth on his neck, sucking and biting and whispering, things his garbled brain can’t understand except _good, so good_ and fuck, Nathan needs to come―

The last piece of it is Ovi’s hand slipping away from Nathan’s sweat-slick back and down between his legs to fist his cock, gliding along with the frenzied jerk of Nathan’s hips and he’s done he’s fucking done oh fuck oh _fuck_ _fuck fuck_ ―

Nathan’s vision blacks out when he comes. His head drops to Ovi’s shoulder and his muscles lock up and he can’t even make a sound for the pleasure wracking his body― it verges on pain this time, it wrings out everything he has left in him, he can't fucking _see_.

He’s barely aware of the shaking of his own body, of Ovi’s arms sliding around him again, shifting to lay him down on the bed. Nathan only starts to come back to himself as Ovi clutches his leg to his hip and thrusts _hard_ , unrestrained, still hitting deep inside Nathan and knocking shapeless noises out of him because it’s too much now, god it’s too much―

With a throaty groan, Ovi’s free hand digs itself into Nathan’s hair and his massive body stills and it only just registers to Nathan that it’s because he’s coming too.

Nathan doesn't know when his arm falls away from Ovi’s neck, he doesn't know when the man slides out of him and disentangles himself from the parts of them that are stuck together, when the bed dips and creaks. He feels punch-drunk, he feels halfway out of his own body.

"...oh m’god," is all Nathan can slur out. He drags up an arm that weighs about fifty pounds now to sling it over his face, head lolling to the side. ".. _._ oh my... _god_."

He’s at least aware enough to take in the rumble of Ovi’s chuckle. The bed dips again and there’s a warm press of lips to Nathan’s throat, the prickly brush of beard. "You were natural," the man murmurs, and Nathan will have to think about what exactly that means later, because he just― can’t form a single thing in his brain right now.

Nathan only realizes he’s fallen into a doze when the touch of Ovi haphazardly wiping the bedsheets over his stomach startles him out of it; he forces his heavy eyelids open, back into the hazy glow of the room.

He doesn't know how these situations usually go, and he’s only partly conscious as it is, but Nathan is pretty sure it’s bad form to immediately pass out in a hookup’s bed. For all he knows, Ovi’s waiting for him to get up and get the fuck out so he can sleep in peace.

Just the idea of moving seems impossible, after everything, but Nathan somehow forces his limbs into action so he can sit up.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to― I’m...I’m gonna go now―" Nathan babbles as he shifts his legs, because he needs to get off the bed, he― what does he need? Clothes, the door? What time is it, even?

But Ovi moves in close to him again, putting one of his brick-like hands on Nathan’s chest. "Don’t worry," he says, soft, pushing at Nathan until he goes back down onto the bed like a sack of flour. "Sleep here."

“Okay," Nathan mumbles; his face ended up in a pillow and his eyes are threatening to close again, so he doesn't think he could protest even if he wanted to.

There’s the click of a lamp, the room plunging into darkness. The bed creaks with the weight of Ovi’s warmth settling down next to him, and with something small and content curling in his chest, Nathan is out.

  
  
  
  
  


He wakes up to a clatter, to muttered curses in a language he can’t understand.

Nathan stirs out of the heaviness of sleep, trying to blink open his eyes that might as well be glued shut. There’s the slight throb of a headache in his temples, but that’s nothing compared to how it feels to shift his body from where it’s sprawled out over the mattress; it’s like he spent a whole day at the rink on three hours of sleep, and for just a second, Nathan can’t recall why.

He finally gets his eyes open, spots Ovi’s huge, unclear form fiddling with something at the table pushed to the wall.

Right, _that's_ why.

Nathan can barely make out the numbers on the digital clock next to him on the nightstand. The unrelenting blurriness, the dry stabs of pain each time he blinks are his punishment for passing out in his contacts; he slowly pushes his aching body up, a hand going to rub at his eyes to try and relieve it.

His movement catches Ovi’s attention, who didn’t seem to realize Nathan was awake. "Sorry," he apologizes, voice low in the face of the early morning. "I try to be quiet, but…" he gestures to whatever’s in his hand before shoving it into the open bag in front of him on the table.

"S’okay," Nathan fumbles out, his tongue thick in his mouth and his mind not working a whole lot better. Now that his vision has cleared a little he takes in Ovi’s fresh clothes, his damp hair, the suitcase all packed up and sitting to the side, ready to be rolled out.

Looking at him, it’s like the night before never happened. Nathan feels a little misplaced in nothing but his naked skin under the sheets, tacky with dried fluid and stinging with beard burn.

“Airport time," Ovi explains with a final zip of his bag, then glances at the clock. "Oh, late for airport time. Nicky’s gonna kick my ass." He doesn't seem overly concerned about it, and gathers his bag and suitcase together with no extra rush.

This is it, then. Nathan― he has no idea what to do, or say. How do these things usually end? Thanks for the mindblowing sex that I still haven't really come back from, have a safe flight?

"I―" Nathan starts, unsure, and when Ovi’s gaze lands on him, his brain very helpfully draws one big continuous blank.

" ―nevermind, I don’t know what I’m saying," he mutters, dragging a hand over his face to hide it. There goes his last chance to prove to Alex Ovechkin that he’s actually a semi-intelligent human being.

The familiar roughness of Ovi’s chuckle is what gets Nathan to drop his hand. "Too cute," he nearly sighs before he abandons his luggage to stride over to Nathan’s side of the bed. "Make me not want to leave," he continues, reaching to cup Nathan’s jaw in his hand.

That alone has Nathan’s heart kicking in his chest, and then Ovi’s leaning down, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that’s soft, lingering, final.

"I hope I can meet you again sometime." Ovi’s easy little grin quirks up as he says it, the one that never really seems to leave.

"Me too," Nathan breathes out, automatic.

After Ovi hauls himself and his bags out the door, after the room stands empty and silent in a way it hasn't been since Nathan entered it, he slumps back down onto the mattress, head buried in his pillow.

He lays there for a small eternity, trying to pull the pieces of his brain back together. He replays flashes of memory from the night before, cycling through them over and over, the weirdness and warmth and discomfort and a strange sense of pride all settling down into his belly on top of each other. That was― he was―

That was. He did that. He _did that._

Nathan shifts, slowly, wanting to roll out his stiff shoulders and stretch his legs. He categorizes all the little aches throughout his body as he does, none of them too unfamiliar to a professional athlete, except― the twinge in his ass as he pushes himself up to sit is, of course, where Ovi’s dick had been last night. Of course.

His thighs, well used to the burn of quads launched a hundred times over, are now sore from spearing himself on that dick like his life depended on it. Naturally.

He fucked Alex Ovechkin. He fucked _Alex Ovechkin_ ― or, more like Alex Ovechkin fucked _him_ , which is a sentence straight out of Bizzarro World, but here Nathan is. It’s his reality now.

Other, heavier thoughts press down on the walls of Nathan’s mind then, trying to worm their way in, but Nathan shoves them aside, tossing the bedsheets that still smell like Ovi’s cologne away to stand.

This was a thing. That happened. Nothing more, nothing less, and it stays in this room. He leaves, and nobody’s any wiser to it.

He hauls himself up, to his body’s protest. Nathan figures he’ll have to hunt for wherever his clothes ended up, but the floor is bare― instead, there’s a small pile laid haphazardly on the end of the bed.

It’s a small gesture, but Nathan wishes he could thank Ovi for picking his clothes up. It’s all there, even his socks― except, he knows he wasn't wearing red when he came down here, so he plucks the fabric out from underneath his jeans with confusion.

It’s a t-shirt, larger than anything he owns and a little worn; the front has the Capitals logo emblazoned on it, with a huge number 8 on the back, OVECHKIN hanging above it.

 _Caps colors would look better on you_.

It’s a pin in the bubble, the rawness that opens in the pit of his stomach. A crack in the otherworld he wants this to be, where he can pack up what he did and what he thought and what he _felt_ and leave it all in this room to disappear.

Nathan shrugs his clothes on quick, suddenly eager to be anywhere else. He leaves without a second glance, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Once he’s shut into his own room again, Nathan stands at the door for a long moment, feeling like he’s been knocked off balance and he can’t quite right himself. He’s not sure what to do about it.

In the mirror on the adjacent wall, Nathan catches his reflection; his disaster hair, his wicked dark circles. The marks peppering his neck, deep red and purplish and almost bruise-like.

Fuck.

Who the fuck _was_ he last night?

He stares instead at the mess he left in here, his open backpack and the clothes strewn all over the bed and his blinking phone on the nightstand― shit, his phone.

Nathan strides over to pluck his phone up, placing Ovi’s shirt onto the bed with his other things as he goes. It was stupid to leave his phone behind last night, but what did he do that _wasn't_ stupid?

There’s a new text from his mom, saying she’ll pick him up in an hour. A good handful of tweets from fans, tags from friends, people he works with. More instagram notifications than he can count. An email from Raf, probably finalizing his training schedule up to Worlds.

This is who he is, who all these people think he is. Who he’s _supposed_ to be. Not the guy who―

Nathan swallows against the lump in his throat, setting his phone back down on the table.

What does this make him?

What would they think, if they knew?

The gnawing in Nathan’s stomach grows heavier. He itches under the grime he’s covered in, the old sweat and the dried come pulling at his skin, and he can’t stand it.

He heads for the shower, pulling his clothes off as he goes.

If only it was that easy to scrub away all the places Ovi’s mouth and fingers had been on him, _in_ him, then maybe Nathan wouldn’t have to face the fact that he doesn't _want_ to.

He wouldn't have to think about what that makes him.

Nathan doesn't want to think about it, but he can’t stop. He can’t pretend he just got carried away, scratched an itch of casual curiosity back down to nothing. It rushes through his head, rises with the churning inside him.

He doesn't want to think about what it makes him, because the only people who take a dick in their ass and _like_ it are fucking fags―

The word sears fast and hot into him like acid, enough to startle Nathan out of the spiral in his head. He’s ashamed, instantly, that he could even have that within him. He doesn't believe that, he knows he doesn't. He doesn't think like that.

He shuts off the shower and steps out to towel himself off, guilt now weighing down on top of everything else inside him.

This is a mess, _he’s_ a mess, and Nathan doesn't know what to do. There’s nothing _to_ do, except pretend it never happened and pretend he’s the same person he was yesterday, because it’s not like he can _tell_ anyone.

God, he can’t even imagine. _Hey, do you think having absolutely stupid-hot sex with a walking definition of manhood makes me gay? I mean I never thought I was before, but boy if this isn't some compelling evidence._

Yeah, that’s never happening. Ever.

Except.

Nathan finishes yanking his clothes back on, goes to the nightstand to pick his phone up again.

There _is_ one person he might, maybe consider telling.

He flops down on the bed, pulling up the right name and staring at his phone screen in indecision for a long moment. He doesn't have to do this. He doesn't even know what to say. _I had sex with a man and kind of sort of loved it, assistance in this matter greatly appreciated_ isn't an acceptable opener, no matter how true it is.

Eventually Nathan decides on what he wants to say, types it out, hits send before he can stop himself.

[8:03 am]

_is it considered unpatriotic to lose your virginity to a russian hockey captain? asking for a friend_

He gets a facetime call in response, barely ten seconds later.

It’s clear Adam hasn't been awake long; his uncoiffed hair and the stubble shading his jaw and whatever green smoothie he has clutched in his hand are a testament to that, but it makes for a picture that’s inexplicably comforting.

"Well, that was the most intriguing message I’ve gotten all morning," Adam starts, the frame shaking as he settles back onto his couch. "Assuming you’re not, in fact, asking for a friend?"

"No," Nathan replies, trying to push down the nervousness that’s risen in him like the tide.

Adam is perking up more by the second. “I’m always here for a juicy dish,” he says, grinning at Nathan through the screen. “A Russian hockey captain, huh?”

Nathan manages to nod.

“And we’re...talking about...women’s.....hockey…?" Adam trails off with a tilt of his head, like he thinks what he’s saying is ridiculous, because it _is_ pretty ridiculous, but it’s Nathan he’s talking to and that’s what everyone expects. The other option is even _more_ ridiculous.

"...No," Nathan mumbles, his throat constricting against his will. "We’re not."

"Oh." Adam’s eyes go wide, and he straightens up a little. " _Oh_ ." He opens his mouth but quickly snaps it shut again, staring at Nathan through the screen, and Nathan would appreciate the restraint if he could actually make himself _talk._

Silence drags between them while Adam waits for Nathan to elaborate and Nathan fumbles for words, for where to even start. Why is this so hard?

Finally, Adam can’t take it anymore. "I still don’t really know what’s going on here, buddy," he nudges, bringing his glass up to take a drink from it.

Nathan hangs for a moment longer, then forces his mouth open, forces himself to just _say something._

"I rode a dick last night," he breathes out in a rush, which is, fucking shit, _not_ what he meant to say. He cringes at about the same time Adam chokes, flecks of green spraying everywhere.

"You _what?_ " the screen on Adam’s end jiggles wildly as he scrubs away droplets of his smoothie, and Nathan wants to bang his head into the wall until he unjams it from _fucking idiot_ mode.

"Sorry― I just," Nathan tries to backtrack, squeezing his eyes shut in sheer regret of ever speaking, "I did and I’m freaking out, please help me."

"You _rode_ ― oh my god. Are you fucking with me― no you’re not, you’re serious, oh my god, oh my god?” Adam’s pitch rises higher and higher, “When you said you lost your― I mean you _really,_ oh my god―" he pulls out about six more variations of _oh my god_ before it gets to be too much for Nathan.

"This isn't helping me not freak out," he cuts in, bouncing his leg against the mattress to let out the frenetic energy of his nerves.

"Well sorry honey, but you went from zero to two hundred here! I just like―" Adam leans back again, putting his fingers to his temple. "I need a minute to process baby’s first gay hookup."

There it is, uttered out loud for the first time since the word swirled through Nathan’s head. It’s like a boulder that comes down on his chest, nearly suffocating in its weight.

Adam takes a deep breath, exhales. "Okay, okay, you’re right," he says, dropping his hand. He focuses his gaze back on Nathan, looking like he has half a handle on his restraint again.

"First of all, everything you did was, y’know, consensual?" there’s a softer, steady note in Adam’s voice that Nathan doesn't hear very often, and it takes a long second for him to comprehend what’s being asked. It hits in a mini-punch to his system.

"Yeah― yeah of course, jesus," Nathan says, startled. He never thought about the situation turning out like _that_ , and he ― really doesn't want to.

Adam lets out a small sigh. "Good, that’s good." He shifts around a bit. "Okay, not to sound like a ninth grade sex ed teacher or anything but, he did use a condom, right?"

Nathan looks away from Adam’s raised brow, awkwardness climbing up over the alarm of the last question. "Yeah, he did." He clears his throat and scoots up to rest against the headboard.

Adam nods, apparently satisfied. "Alright, now that the after school special is out of the way―" he picks his glass up again and looks back at Nathan with a gleam in his eye. "Spill the tea! How did it happen? _Where_ did it happen? No wait, tell me who it was first."

This is, well. Not the tone Nathan expected to shift to, but maybe he should have, considering. "Do you...know much about NHL players?"

There’s a tongue-click from Adam. "Nathan, you underestimate me," he retorts. “I have the power of Google at my fingertips, y’know."

Nathan doesn't quite know why his nerves rear up again to clench in his chest. “....Alex Ovechkin," he murmurs, fiddling with the mussed bedspread beneath him.

"Alex _Ovechkin,_ " Adam repeats jauntily, wiggling his eyebrows. He leans over to put down his glass again, coming back with a tablet in his hand. "Let’s see what you look like…"

Adam lowers his phone as he focuses on his tablet, so Nathan mostly sees an upward angle of his face while he types away. It means he watches the exact moment that the humor drops away from Adam, replaced with wide eyes.

Nathan waits, his stomach twisting as Adam continues to scroll, his eyes only growing wider. He expected Adam to have a lot to say, so his silence is more intimidating than Nathan could have imagined.

The indistinct noises of a video being played float through the air. "This," Adam finally speaks, pulling his phone up again to bring his tablet screen into the frame, "this is the guy we’re talking about?"

It’s an in-game video; the camera just cuts away from the net to show Ovi with his fists held above his head, roaring to an equally-pumped Backstrom.

"Yeah," is all Nathan can manage, quietly.

Adam shifts his camera, but keeps staring at the video. "You, Nathan, my little baby son," he says, without looking up, "My little child― out of all the choice pieces here, you went right for daddy bear? Like I’m not even kidding, he is the daddiest bear I’ve ever seen in my fucking _life._ "

Nathan honestly has only the vaguest idea of what Adam’s talking about, has no clue what’s good or bad here.

"...Yeah?" he echoes.

Adam finally puts his tablet aside, but has yet to stop staring into space. Nathan doesn't know if he should speak.

"Okay," Adam chirps suddenly, moving to stand. The scenery passes by in a blur on the screen until Adam comes to a stop in the kitchen, setting his phone on what’s probably a shelf.

"Here’s what we’re gonna do," Adam throws over his shoulder as he goes to open the fridge. "I’m gonna make myself a mimosa, and you’re gonna start from the beginning."

Nathan ends up recounting the story of the night before as Adam mixes his drink together, only trailing off once he gets to the point of actually being in Ovi’s hotel room. Despite what he blurted out earlier, Nathan actually would really rather avoid delving into the sex part.

Adam hums in the silence, taking a sip from his champagne glass. "Alright, no details necessary, but," he leans onto the counter, "it was good?"

"It was…" Nathan’s first instinct is to cave to his embarrassment and give a more tepid answer than the truth. But, he’s been honest with everything else, hasn't he?

He slides his free hand up to cover his face. "It was fucking amazing," he mutters, feeling his face heat up under his fingers.

"Oh _my,_ " Adam drawls, and Nathan doesn't even have to be looking to picture his face.

“That’s why I’m, like―" Nathan drops his hand and blows out a breath. "I don’t know what this means, for me. About me." That’s not exactly true, and Nathan feels the heaviness in his chest.

"I mean, I kind of do, but. I never thought that’d be _me._ "

"Be what?" Adam asks, his tone dipping to the gentler side.

Nathan bites his lip. "The gay figure skater stereotype." He’s too focused on the near-queasiness inside him to realize right away what he just said, and _who_ he said it to.

”Well....being gay isn't the worst thing in the world." Adam’s tone is still far more gentle than Nathan probably deserves, and he snaps out of his thoughts with it.

"Shit― I’m sorry Adam, I didn't mean it like―" Nathan’s stumbling apology is cut off by Adam’s shushing.

"Shh, it’s okay. Gay panic, all is forgiven." Adam waves his hand, dismissive. "It’s a lot to deal with, and it’s not easy. But there’s a simple answer to this," he says.

"Are you still attracted to women?"

It really is a simple answer, _the_ simplest answer, that in all of Nathan’s spiraling dread never even crossed his mind.

"Yeah," he replies, almost immediately. It only takes a moment of thought to be pretty damn sure that hasn’t changed. This is― hm. An oversight of monumental proportions is about the nicest way to put it. Nathan feels the fog of confusion rising up again.

"Well, there you go." Adam sets his empty glass down. "If that’s true, then you’re not gay." After a beat, he continues.

"Being bi isn't the worst thing either, y’know."

Bi. _Bi._

Nathan wonders what the physical manifestation of a puzzle piece clicking into place in his mind would be. If there was ever a time for it, it’d be now.

Somehow there had been only two options in Nathan’s head, and if he couldn’t cling to _straight_ anymore that meant― man, he’s a fucking idiot. It’s like his brain erased the very word from his memory. Like that concept and Nathan couldn’t possibly exist in the same realm together.

There’s a saying about being blind to what’s right in front of you, or something― hell if Nathan can actually remember it.

Bisexual.

It settles deep down into Nathan, impossibly lighter than the word _gay._ It shifts that heaviness off his chest, unroots something older that he didn't even know was there. It lifts the weight of all the times Nathan’s ever forced his eyes away from another guy’s arms or ass or smile and told himself it wasn't, wasn't, _wasn't._

It feels―

It feels _right._

"You’re right," Nathan says, at last. "It’s not."

  
  
  
  
  
  


Nathan is lounging in the passenger's seat while his mom weaves through traffic towards home, his hoodie up to cover his neck and Ovi’s shirt carefully folded away into his backpack, when his phone vibrates with a new message from Adam.

It’s a link to what looks like an article, and Nathan opens it without a second thought.

_Twinks, Hunks, and Bears, Oh My! Gay Terminology 101_

Nathan swipes the article closed at lightning speed and drops his phone into his lap, shooting a furtive glance to his mom.

She hums along to the radio, none the wiser.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://adams-witchcraft.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants it ;;;;


End file.
